L is for Late
by Dragon's Daughter 1980
Summary: As Megan finds out, there are benefits to being late. Throwing up is not one of them.


L is for Late

By Dragon's Daughter 1980

(Written for the 2006 Summer Alphabet Challenge)

Disclaimer: Other than being a devoted fan, I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs.

Author's Note: The Asian dish mentioned in the story actually does exist. It's traditionally either steamed, as Megan describes it, and is eaten with a sweet sauce or is added to chicken broth along with ginger. For those of you who are wondering if I'm serious about people actually eating this food, my mother says that given there are valid sanitary and health concerns in the preparation of said food, this dish has started to fall out of favor with restaurants. I personally haven't tried it. On the other hand, Colby's 'black tofu' is actually called 'Spiced Thick Dry Tofu' in the supermarkets. I have no idea how the translation ended up that way, but as a picky eater, it tastes great stir-fried. :)

* * *

Megan unlocked the front door of her home and slipped silently into the foyer. Taking care not to make too much noise, she locked the deadbolt and chain behind her before placing her purse and keys on the polished hallway table. Navigating more by feel and memory than by sight in the darkness, she moved towards the staircase that led to the second-story of the Victorian-style home. She began the slow trudge upstairs, her aching muscles reminding that she was no longer a twenty-five year old woman. To her, the thought of slipping under cool covers with soft, fluffy pillows for several hours of uninterrupted sleep was a heavenly prospect. She had spent the past forty hours embroiled in a complex fraud/extortion/kidnapping case that ended in a massive raid three hours before. She wanted sleep.

A sudden ruckus in the back of the house changed her mind, her hand automatically going to the butt of her service weapon. She crept back down the few steps she had taken, her movements as graceful as a feline's as her mind prepared for a threat. Megan relaxed a moment later when she heard her husband's gentle scolding coming from the direction of the dinning room. She smiled at the sound of his voice and, her hand dropping away from her weapon, moved down the hallway. As she approached the slender beam of light that spilled out into the hallway from the room, she was able to hear what he was saying.

"No, no, this is the 101 class," he mumbled to himself, "Or is this my 161 class? Louise Something? This is the _last_ time I'm letting my students submit papers without… Where is my attendance book? I did bring it…? No, wait, yes, I'm sure I put it in my bag…"

She heard the sound of piles of paper being shifted before she heard the alarm in her husband's voice, "No, no, no, don't do that—" followed by the swish-slide noise of paper toppling over. Megan was close enough now to push the door open, revealing that once again, her professor husband had turned the formal dinning room into a temporary study for his midterm grading. She smothered a giggle of amusement when she saw him on his hands and knees on the hardwood floor, his backside and head partially covered by a cascade of graded papers and lecture notes that had toppled from the table. She wasn't as successful as she had hoped because he looked up fast enough to catch her amused smile. He stood, using the table to steady himself in the slippery mess, and tilted his head questioningly.

"Everything all right?" asked Larry, walking to stand in front of her. "I take it everything went well?"

"Yeah," she said with a tired smile, "We wrapped the case." They kissed briefly before she said, "It's late, you know." He took her hands in his, his fingers running over the back of her hands and sending little shivers up and down her spine.

"I know," he replied calmly. "But tomorrow is Friday."

"You shouldn't have waited—"

"I need to get these papers graded by Monday," he interrupted gently, "I might as well continue the process in my bout of insomnia. And am I not allowed some degree of husbandly concern for your well-being?"

"Yes," she said, giggling a little because his hands had encircled her waist and were stroking her lower back. Despite the late hour, he had a playful look in his eyes, and she found herself responding in kind. Given the ideas that were floating through her mind, maybe a little _distraction_ before slumber would be wise. With another quick kiss, she tugged him out of the dinning room, flipping off the light switch with her free hand. The papers could wait until sunrise. And she could afford to be late to work tomorrow.

* * *

Six weeks later…

'_I_ knew _that tofu tasted weird last night_,' Megan thought, slowly standing from her kneeling position in front of the toilet. '_It was the wrong color too._' She swallowed down another wave of nausea as she leaned forward and got rid of the evidence of her upset stomach. She quickly made her way out of the restroom stall and washed her hands. '_And since when is tofu black? If I have food poisoning… This is the last time I will_ ever _let Colby talk me into trying spicy dishes._'

"Megan, are you okay?" a concerned voice asked softly. "You look a little pale." With a slow steadying breath, Megan raised her face to look at the speaker, not relinquishing the death grip she had on the edges of the sink. It was Lisa Henderson, a petite Asian woman who had become a friend after a string of nasty cases. Despite her younger age, she was a confident leader in tense situations, and a soft-spoken advisor in all others. Now, Lisa's expression signaled that she was fairly concerned about Megan's health.

"Just a bad meal," replied Megan dismissively.

"You sure?" the other woman asked, "'Cause you look like you're about ready to fall over."

"Yeah," Megan turned back to the sink and, ignoring the slight disorientation she felt when she let good of the cool porcelain edge, turned on the cold water. She gently splashed her face, hoping to jumpstart her sleep-clogged mind back to work.

"Then may I ask what did you eat?" Lisa took the sink to Megan's right, washing her hands and splashing some water onto her forearms. The weather promised to hit a hundred degrees by early afternoon and was already in the eighties. Megan knew that this sort of heat was not something Lisa was used to, having been raised in the temperate Pacific Northwest.

"Chinese."

Lisa made a soft noise of understanding. "What dish?"

"Colby ordered it."

"Well, what was the dish called?"

Megan had to search back in her memory for a moment. The restaurant had been filled to the brim with chatter as families and friends reconnected over a long meal. Despite the fact that they had only been about a foot apart, Colby had to repeat himself several times to the waitress in order to be heard. The noise level didn't interfere with the meal, though, or the relaxed chattered the four of them swapped, decompressing from a very bad day in the field. In fact, it was sort of comforting to know that even in the openness of the space, it was damn near impossible to be overheard. Oddly enough, though, the noise level had also made her feel slightly claustrophobic, which had never happened before.

"Zhu xue gao," she finally said, trying not to mangle the pronunciation too much. Lisa gave her typical half-smile in response and prompted apologetically, "What did it look like?"

"Well, it was black," Megan replied, "with sweet rice baked into it. We dipped it into this spicy sauce. Colby told me it was tofu. _Black_ tofu. I don't think it was."

"Uh…I don't think it was either," A fleeting expression of queasiness past over Lisa's face. "But you know, this is like the second time this week you've bolted into the restroom and it's only Tuesday."

"Yeah, well…" Megan trailed off, not wanting to relive the all too gruesome crime scene photos of their latest case. She had been looking through them yesterday when bile had risen in her mouth; she had managed to make it to the restroom before she lost her breakfast. She didn't understand why she would have such a rookie reaction to the photographs; this was hardly her first bloody case.

"Don't worry about it," said Lisa, shaking her head. "When I was pregnant with Amy and Jordan, first trimester, I had issues with crime scenes and blood. Kept having to duck outside for air." Considering that Lisa was the type of person who didn't comment on the overpowering stench of copper at most bloody crime scenes, this was an unusual admission on her part. "Keith," she referred to her partner and supervisor, "on the other hand, was terrified that I was going to faint at a scene. And the morning sickness…I couldn't sit through morning briefing for _weeks_. Of course, we both thought it was food poisoning or a nasty stomach bug before I figured it out. Here."

Megan took the offered paper towel numbly as various thoughts chased themselves around her mind. She honestly couldn't remember if she had marked any days in her private planner for the past two months. She knew she had been under a lot of stress, handling one high-profile case after another, and she had brushed it off as such. '_Nothing like… I don't even remember the last time Larry and I had…_' Then her mind helpfully supplied the missing memory and she flushed slightly. While Megan wasn't a prude, she didn't tend to indulge in private thoughts at work, and certainly not in front of coworkers, even a female one.

She turned over the possibility in her mind. Given their respective ages when they had married, he in his early-fifties, her in her late-thirties, children had been a distant hope for the two of them. They both wanted children at some point in their lives, but taking into consideration the demands of her job and his age, they weren't completely sure it was a wise idea. She had seen how happily exhausted her teammates were with their children, but they were not the primarily caretakers. And while the idea of Larry chasing little Fleinhardt was appealing, she didn't want to miss out on their children's lives. The idea of adoption had been brought up seriously once or twice, but the truth was neither of them had neither the time nor the money to thoroughly investigate that possibility. But now… it was beginning to look like a decision had already been made for them. Well, if it was the case (and she hoped, deep down inside in her heart, that it was), she would adapt and change to it. Larry would make a terrific, if at times confusing, father. As for herself…she had always adored her nieces and nephews from infanthood on.

"I think…" Megan said slowly, patting her face dry. She would have to make an appointment to be sure and her doctor had a tendency to be tightly booked for weeks. She sighed, "As soon as the case is wrapped, I think."

"That's probably a good idea," Lisa agreed. "But take it easy, either way."

"That's a definite."

"Um…" Lisa handed her another paper towel to dry her hands, "by the way, Megan, that wasn't tofu you ate last night."

"What was it then?" she asked, with some degree of trepidation as she pitched the brown paper towel into the garbage can. '_Please don't tell me it was squid or octopus._'

"It was dried pig's blood," replied Lisa cautiously, as if worried about inducing another round of vomiting in her coworker.

"Oh." Megan pushed open the door to the restroom. '_I am_ so _going to kill Colby…._'


End file.
